


Bleeding Needs of Acceptance

by MashpotatoeQueen5



Series: The Curious Little Thoughts Of Your Average Child Assassin [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: A vicious murder happy assassin sweetheart, Alfred Knows All, Before Damian becomes Robin, Bruce - Freeform, Bruce being Bruce, But a sweetheart all the same, But very non graphic, Character Death, Confused!Damian, Confusion about crying, Confusion about hugs, Crying, Culture Shock, DAMIAN AND DICK ARE PRECIOUS AND MUST BE PROTECTED AT ALL COSTS, Damian Needs a Hug, Damian Wayne is a sweetheart, Damian bleeds the need to be accepted, Damian is four feet of swords death kittens and horrible confusion, Damian thinks everyone is stupid, Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Dick explains stuff, Except Grayson, Except that the other characters don't know that, Free Verse, Gen, Good thing Dick will give him them, Grief/Mourning, Guess what! Being Raised As An Assassin Leaves Issues!, He doesn't get the idea of love, He is an awkward man child who can't express feelings, He's messed up, He's still trying to understand why, Hugs, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I love him anyways, I think everything is covered?, I will forever mourn the end of this duo, Identity Issues, It's Bruce's death but not death, Locked Doors, Love yOUR SON, Mentions of cruel training, No baby, Pint Sized Assassins are the way to my heart, Please just leave me and my happiness be, Poor Damian, Poor precious child, Probably some uncannon stuff, That and their older brothers, Travel size for your convenience, Vomiting, adjustments, batbros, but not really?, but seriously, my precious children, this kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 00:35:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12096852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashpotatoeQueen5/pseuds/MashpotatoeQueen5
Summary: Damian shows up in the dead of night at Gotham City with swords on his back and a chip in his shoulder, ten years old with blood on his hands and a scowl so fierce that grown men have been known to turn away from it.He’s on the run, but at the same time not, and he’s not sure what he’s doing but he knows what he’s expecting, because he’s there to see his Father and his Father was surely just like the stories his Mother used to tell; tall and strong and brave, a shadow in the night, the call of vengeance in the streets, a detective in his mind and a warrior in his soul, an experienced and incredible fighter who was and is everything that Damian should ever try to be.Batman is all these things. Father is all these things. And yet, somehow, he still doesn’t quite match Damian’s expectations.Nobody does.(AKA That one fic with the focus on the fact that Damian was trained to be a killer ninja in probably not so good conditions, and that a sudden transition to the crazy Batfam and- more importantly- Dick Grayson, probably wasn't the easiest to deal with.)





	Bleeding Needs of Acceptance

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Bleeding needs of acceptance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12597824) by [herbarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbarium/pseuds/herbarium)



It begins like this.

Damian shows up in the dead of night at Gotham City with swords on his back and a chip on his shoulder, ten years old with blood on his hands and a scowl so fierce that grown men have been known to turn away from it.

He’s on the run, but at the same time not, and he’s not sure what he’s doing but he knows what he’s expecting, because he’s there to see his Father and his Father was surely just like the stories his Mother used to tell; tall and strong and brave, a shadow of the night, the call of vengeance in the streets, a detective in his mind and a warrior in his soul, an experienced and incredible fighter who was and is everything that Damian should ever try to be.

Batman is all these things. _ Father  _ is all these things. And yet, somehow, he still doesn’t quite match Damian’s expectations.

(No one is.)

Damian arrives at the manor with his head held high and claiming his rightful blood status and his Father is not- is not pleased to see Damian. He is angry.

Angry.

Damian has been training and training and _training_ his whole life to be better, to be stronger, to be more like him, and he is angry.

And then Damian is just- lost.

He is lost. And Batman stays angry.

So Damian gets angry, too.

Listless. Furious. Something confused and small and  _ gaping _ in his chest that Damian doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t like it, not at all, so he ignores it, ignores it and stares behind a wall of anger with hidden confused eyes at this fami- at these people his Father has brought into his life, at these people that his Father is pleased to be with.

_ Why is his Father pleased to be with them but not Damian? _

Drake is an impeccable and utterly despicable, looking upon Damian as if  _ he _ was the one who does not belong, as if he is the one without Father’s blood, as if being an Ah Gul is  _ wrong, _ and it makes Damian’s blood boil and he lashes out and then there is no chance of being civil after that.

_ It’s a stupid reason to get angry,  _ his Mother’s voice tells him _ , reacting only shows that you know he’s right- _

_ Shut up _ , he tells the voice, and he puts up another wall of anger, even as he curls further into himself within his chest and tries to play the role placed out for him.

There is always a role to play. Damian’s not sure who he is supposed to be for this strange man who is his Father, what will please him and make Damian worthy of his time, but he looks, he searches, he prepares himself for the inevitable tests that are surely coming his way, any day now, because he’s always hated those tests but if they make Father smile at him-  _ no one ever smiles at him, not like that _ \- like he does at Drake when the older boy cracks a case or beats an old training score, than it would be worth it.

The hole in his chest keeps gaping, and Damian does not understand, can not understand, what it wants.

He ignores it.

Todd is… he is not an impeccable like Drake. But he is an idiot, Damian can tell the minute the older boy enters the cave, shouting and yelling at Father about  _ guns _ of all things. He is an idiot. He is driven by emotions, big emotions, the ones that cannot be fine tuned and routed and used. Todd’s emotions _ control  _ him, overwhelm him, and he cares  _ too much _ . 

Caring is never an advantage. Damian knows this. Todd does not. 

Todd is an idiot.

But even though Todd is an idiot Father is still- different around him. Warm. Like he  _ cares. _ But- but Father must not care. That would be wrong. Because that would mean Father is an idiot and he isn’t, so- so-

Damian doesn’t understand. He puts up another wall of anger and judgement and arrogance, just to make extra triple sure that they don’t see his weakness.

(You can never show anyone your weakness. Showing weakness gets you dead.)

He learns that there is a no killing rule. He does not understand this, either. _ No killing? Why? _  This is what Damian is trained to do, what he’s good at. This is _ what _ Damian is. This has always been his role, and now that it is not, now that even this simple fact is torn away from him, he is floundering.

Damian does not ask, though. Only promises to not try and decapitate the mailman again. Father scowls at him, despite his vow, and Damian wonders if this is the test, if being treated like scum, like something wrong and convoluted, is the test. That if he shows weakness to the sudden change- he’s used to being on top, he’s used to rules, he’s used to a sword in his hand and a target to scratch off a list, he’s used to servants and coldness, he’s used to another role, one set out clearly from start to finish, not this, never this- he will be deemed unacceptable and sent on his way.

Damian does not want to be sent away. He wants this, whatever this is, and he wants the gaping hole in his chest to stop tearing him apart.

He doesn’t kill. He hopes it’s enough.

Alfred Pennyworth is strange. He is old. But he is- he is something that Damian does not dare disrespect, not anymore, because the first time it happens Father  _ yells _ at him and Damian’s a quick learner. A good learner. He has to be. When Father says to apologize, he apologizes, even though he doesn’t understand  _ why _ . 

He tells himself, once he is excused to his room, that it was a good thing to happen, because he can add this to his defining role, the one set out for him by an ever growing set of rules- _ Keep the room clean, don’t destroy the shrubberies, don’t talk to Batman while he is working, don’t try and kill Drake, don’t break things, don't wear your armour around the mansion, DON’T DISRESPECT PENNYWORTH _ \- but his eyes are blinking rapidly and there’s a slight blur to his vision and he just doesn’t  _ understand _ who his Father wants him  _ to be _ and why no one tells him  _ anything  _ and why there are no tests and no punishments and-

Damian has no more anger to put up. He withdraws instead, watches. Always watching. He has done something wrong. Surely there will be an assassin to fend off in his chambers or a wake up in a locked room slowly filling with water or a starvation period to see how long he can last in extreme heat or- something. Surely there will be _ something _ .

Surely.

_ Right? _

Damian does not know, but he remains vigilant, just in case.

(He's always vigilant. He has to be. Being _not_ vigilant gets you dead.)

Fatgirl is annoying. Very annoying. She grates on his nerves, she’s too happy, she’s too bright, she’s  _ wrong _ ; no one should be that happy. It’s not natural. She’s hiding something. She must be. It’s the only explanation. But for the life of him he can’t figure out what, so he mistrusts and snaps out insults and waits for the shoe to fall.

The shoe does not fall.

_ Why does it not fall? _

Damian wonders if this is a test, too, this awful tension. He does not sleep at night, instead double and triple checking the room for cameras and bugs and sitting, tense, waiting in his bed for that  _ something _ that never comes. He eats, because no one can know that he’s cracking, no one can see the weakness, but the food does not sit right in his chest; it’s too bland and too- fake. Preservatives and grease and sickly rich sweetness even though it’s all homemade, and the chasm in his chest rejects it and his stomach rejects it and most nights he finds himself throwing up into the toilet as quietly as he can, because no one can know about that, either.

He places another wall, this time haughtiness, and pretends that the food is not good enough. Anything to make the painful clenching _ stop _ . Pennyworth’s face seems hurt, and the hole in Damian’s chest squeezes around his heart, and he doesn’t like this, doesn’t like this at all, but he doesn’t know how to make it  _ stop _ .

Pennyworth makes curry for dinner the next night, and the spices are off and the taste still a bit too bland, but Damian still eats as much as possible, because finally, something _ edible _ .

(He doesn’t see Alfred’s smile.)

There are still no tests.There are still no punishments. His Father is still angry and distant and cold. Drake is still an impeccable and Brown still an annoyance and Todd still cares too much. Damian continues to not understand what he was doing or how he should be doing it, continues to search for a sign of his assigned role and keeps coming up empty. 

His chest still maintains it’s gaping empty hole that clenches and clenches around his heart until Damian’s not sure he can even  _ breathe  _ sometimes.

No one comes and locks the doors of his assigned room at night. Perhaps the security in the yard is so good that they are unconcerned. Perhaps they don’t care. Perhaps they know Damian has nowhere to go even if he could escape.

So he locks his own door- he tells himself it's for security, but in reality it's because there is too much freedom here and it itches under his skin- and waits with the waning moon each night for someone to kick it down and attack him, try and kill him, punish him because he still hasn’t passed the simple test of finding his given role and he’s failing the test of keeping his composure in this strange new world where everything is backwards and  _ wrong _ .

No one ever does.

Grayson is… different. Grayson is _ special _ . He is not what Damian expects of him. Nowhere near it. Grayson looks at him and sees him and somehow realizes that Damian is  _ there _ despite the harshly constructed walls that he has kept up so thoroughly, trying to keep up with his undefined role and his turmulent unwanted emotions. Somehow looks at him and sees that he is confused and doesn’t  _ care _ . Grayson is not too happy like Fatgirl is, but his face is honest. Kind. And he- he-

He smiles at Damian.

No one ever smiles at Damian. Not like that, at least, not like Damian is something special, something good, something worth smiling at.

Not like that. Never like that. Not like Damian is a some _ one _ instead of a some _ thing _ .

Grayson smiles at him like he’s pleased to see him, and it makes the clenching in his heart sooth just the smallest of amounts, because here, at least, is someone who accepts him.

Except Damian doesn’t know that.

Damian doesn’t know that, and this could be a trap, and it’s impossible for someone to be so good. It’s impossible for someone to actually, honestly be this nice. To look at Damian and see a good person instead of a monster, an assassin, someone- something to be angry at.

Damian keeps his guards up, just in case.

(Always just in case.)

(Maybe he's tired of _always just in case_.)

Which is why when Grayson wraps two arms around him on their third meeting, tugging him close to his chest and trying to constrain him, Damian instantly reacts, raising a leg to land a hard, decapitating- _no killing, don’t make Father mad-_ blow.

Grayson somehow manages to flip out of the way before his foot makes contact, and all Damian can think is  _ At least Grayson is a worthy opponent _ even as something in his heart  _ breaks _ because he had been  _ so sure _ , he had thought that maybe, that maybe Grayson was someone good, someone kind, someone Damian could trust- that maybe the man did not care about roles and tests and punishments, that maybe the man just cared about  _ Damian _ , and he is angry at the world and he is angry at himself, because he let the man past his guards and he trusted and he cared- even though he said he wouldn’t- and those are all things one should never, ever do, because those things always, always got you killed.

Damian prepares for battle. Pretends his eyes don’t want to become wet and blurred and pretends that he knows why his body would want to do that anyways, even though he doesn’t.

But Grayson doesn’t fight him. 

Grayson has his hands out in front him, crouching a little lower to the ground- making himself smaller, less threatening- and speaking in soft, soothing tones, explaining what he was doing, giving Damian information he did not previously know and-

“-just a hug, Dami. I promise. Okay? It’s just a hug. I’m not trying to hurt you. It’s a sign of affection and a way of greeting people you care about, that’s all it is. I promise. Here- uh- let me show you.”

And then the man is in front of him, and Damian should move back, move away. This is a threat, this is dangerous, this could be  _ a trap _ , but instead he stays stock still.

Slowly, _slowly_ , Grayson wraps his arms around him again, tugging him a little closer so he’s pressed lightly against the man’s chest. The grip is so gentle it’s hardly even there, very easy to break out of if he so pleases, and the whole thing is awkward and weird and _wrong_ and Damian is not used to this- to contact, not like this, not when it’s not violent- and his every muscle is tense and unyielding but at the same time it's almost… nice.

Some small, whiny, needy part of him wants to relax. Wants to settle into this weird, wonderful embrace and wrap his arms back around the man’s waist, wants to satisfy the clenching hole in his chest, which is drinking everything in like a man tasting water on his lips after days lost in the desert.

Damian does not relax, and Grayson does not let go until he shifts uncomfortably, and when the older man does, he smiles at Damian as if he has just accomplished some amazing feat, like climbing to the top of the world and back.

“Okay?”

Damian panics, because it was more than okay, but he doesn’t know the correct response and he doesn’t know who’s watching and he hasn’t checked this room for bugs and, and-

And he steels his expression and crosses his arms and shrugs, praying that Grayson does not enquire further.

Grayson does not, but he does ruffle his hair.

(No one has ever ruffled his hair before. No one has hugged him before. Why has no done done these things? Are they common, _normal?_ Or are they just Grayson special? Damian does not know. _ He doesn’t know _ .)

And of course Grayson is special, of course he is, because Father smiles at Grayson. That small pleased smile that Damian has yet to figure out how to receive, how to be worthy of it, how to find the infuriating role that will allow him to follow a script and lead his way to it. Father is, well, content around Grayson. Less cold. _Warm_ , almost.  As if Grayson somehow holds a part of the sun within his very being. And Grayson was the first Robin, Grayson is good and a  _ someone  _ and people  _ care  _ about him and maybe if, maybe if Damian is a bit more like Grayson, maybe then people- Father-  _ someone _ , could care about him, too.

(But, but caring is not an advantage, cannot be an advantage, so why does he _ want _ it  _ so much _ ?) 

He tries to smile in his mirror that night, tries to quirk his lips upwards from their constant scowl, but the smile is ugly and wrong, demented and  _ stupid _ , and suddenly Damian remembers the blood on his hands and there’s nothing to smile about.

His body betrays him again, makes his eyes squeeze shut and the salt water rise up and his fists shake and- and-

And Damian doesn’t need anyone. Damian is fine. He doesn’t care if Father smiles at him or not, or whether people look at him and see a  _ someone  _ or an  _ it _ . He doesn’t care. Caring is never an advantage, and it clouds your judgment and it gets in the way of achieving your goals.

Damian doesn’t care.

He can’t.

If he does, he’ll care so much that he’ll shatter a part into a thousand little pieces and never be able to pull himself back together again.

Grayson cares, though. Grayson sits by his side when he’s reading a book and does paper work. Grayson acts horrified when he hears that Damian doesn’t know what soccer is and promptly drags him outside to teach him. Grayson goes out and buys him a strange, sweet, cold dessert called ice cream and sits with him as they try the many, many different flavors. Grayson makes him watch ridiculous cartoons and ridiculous movies and ridiculous, ridiculous sport channels, and when Damian informs him of all their stupidity, takes it all in stride and starts suggesting different books instead.

Grayson talks to Father for him, defends him when he does something wrong-  _ no one has ever defended him, no one has ever cared enough to even try, he’s always been on his own _ \- and listens to him when he complains and talks to him and smiles at him and hugs him and places a hand on his shoulder and a ruffle in his hair and a tug at his wrist and there’s always just so much  _ contact _ from Grayson that he sometimes thinks he might explode just from the sheer extent of it all.

_ Why? Caring is not an advantage, and yet Grayson cares so much anyways. Why does he do it? Surely, surely he knows… right? _

_ And why does he have the distinct feeling that even if Grayson did care too much, he would still follow him anyways? _

Damian asks who he should be, what role he should play. Grayson laughs, says, “Yourself, silly,” and pops another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

Damian asks about tests and punishments, trying to keep his voice casual and devoid of emotion, Grayson simply looks bewildered and awants to know what he’s talking about.

And Damian is so very confused by this man, but he also feels, lighter, warmer, as if he was standing in a spot of sunshine, as if Grayson’s warmth could reach Damian, too. And he slowly relaxes and thinks, maybe, that he can do away with his idea of creating a fake role for himself- could do away with his old way of life, could lower his walls a little, could maybe, maybe see if those phrases drilled into his head and the instincts into his body were maybe possibly wrong- and instead find a way to just be a role that is himself, one that can make Father smile at him like he’s someone worth smiling at.

Time goes on. He only tries to maul Drake twice, he destroys some shrubs, he trains in the gym and he spars with Grayson. He learns of another sibling, a Cassandra Cain who lives overseas at the moment, and hardly suppresses a groan. _(_ _ Where do they all come from? _ _)_  He gets used to leaving his armour behind in his closet and wearing the strange, loose t-shirts and weird clingy pants- _Jeans?_ \- instead. He reads, sneaks into the kitchen one night and dumps three extra chilli peppers into the curry on the stove and watches as Todd and Drake’s eyes water in response and resists the urge to laugh.

His Mother shows up, she and Father fight over him, and Father fights  _ for  _ him, and Damian thinks that this could be a changing point in their relationship and things could maybe become- better, but it doesn’t. Grandfather dies. People get killed and maimed. Assassins come after him and Damian runs and fights and his sword runs red with blood and his veins shake with anger so profound it threatens to strangle him. His Mother kidnaps him. There are more assassins. Damian goes back to Wayne Manor bloodied and bruised and his Father more distant and angry than ever.

And time goes on.

He trains more, spars more, tries out more ice cream flavors. Alfred catches him trying to spice up the curry again and lectures him kindly but sternly. He continues to harass the impeccable Drake and the older boy continues to harass them back. He uses his sword to fix destroyed shrubs and make them into new shapes, giving them new lives, new futures.

(Or maybe that’s just himself.)

He reads and Grayson hugs him and laughs and _ smiles _ . The moon starts to grow in the night sky and Damian stares at the distant stars, so very different above the broken city of Gotham. He learns how to play basketball and Dick takes him out to a small out of the way movie theatre, where the lights are too bright and the music too loud but everything was somehow still amusing anyways, stupid content and all. He checks his room for bugs only once every night instead of three, and his stomach settles despite the strange, new food. He smiles, once, when Grayson does a series of backflips and twirls through the air right over Todd, who squawks at the sudden rushing wind, only to realize he was doing it and quickly stop. Grayson gives him an old IPod and a pair of headphones, and he listens to music for hours and hours and hours.

Father dies.

Damian has known him for maybe three months.

(He never did get that smile.)

Time stops.

It loops in on itself, contracts until it’s slow and fast all at once, jumping from one speed to another and making him dizzy.

No one knows what happened.

‘Brucie’ has a massive funeral, hundreds of reporters looking for their next big meal ticket and socialites who never really cared showing up and weeping and praising the man, the figurehead that his Father has set up, even though they hardly knew him at all.

For the week- which slips through his fingers like sand, going too fast, too fast, until he has no time left at all- leading up to the funeral, Damian thinks. He thinks and he thinks and he thinks, because Damian has only just become an official member of the family and he has nowhere else to go. Father is dead. His Mother has disowned him. He is ten, deemed too young for a job and his own household by society. He has nothing, and he does not look forward to life on the streets, but if there is no other way, Damian will survive it. He always has.

At the funeral, Damian does not show any emotions. He stands ramrod straight and stares at the large white coffin and the wailing fake mourners whose sounds grate at his ears. Drake and Todd and Brown and even the mysterious Cain are there, and they all seem dry eyed, although Damian is quite sure he saw Drake wipe at his eyes once or twice as the coffin was being lowered into the ground.

Pennyworth has a tissue in hand, keeps dabbing at his eyes.

Damian continues to think, continues to think and think and think. He’ll need supplies, a spare change of clothes. Maybe, if he asks nicely, Grayson will loan him some money.

It seems to take hours for the coffin to disappear from sight, and even longer for all the guests to dispearse.

Grayson is standing right besides him, his hand on his shoulder. It’s not raining, but the clouds are ominous and dark, and small trickles of wet pitter off the taller man’s face and onto the ground below.

Grayson looks down at him and then at the others, his eyes sad but his face strong, and quietly says, “I guess it’s just us now, eh?”

Damian is confused.  _ Us? _ No. Damian has no one.

The funeral ends and the rain begins to fall, and they all walk back to the Manor.

Todd leaves first. Quieter than usual, too. Slips out the back door and into the night, hands in his pockets and a cigarette in his mouth, strolling away from the too empty house until the dark swallows him up.

Cain and Brown leave together, the black haired girl having not said a single word all evening. To be fair, none of them had said much, but Damian still wonders.

Pennyworth retires early, his shoulders stooped heavily in a fashion that Damian has never seen upon the older man before.

Drake eventually retreats to his room as well, and Damian unwittingly envies him, for he is seventeen and in college, and he’s old enough to live a life that he wants, even now that Father is gone, and Damian himself is still young and unfortunately dependent, even though he has tried so, so hard to never depend on anybody.

Time turns slowly, each moment lasting and lasting and lasting like it will never end.

He goes to his own given room, his limbs oddly gelatin like and slow, as if they dread they upcoming cold nights and hungry days and wish to delay those moments as long as possible. Damian pays them no heed, grits his teeth and marches up the stairs and slams open his door, grabbing his backpack and heading to his closet for some durable clothes. He comes out and Dick is standing in his- the room, eyebrows raised, his suit crumpled and his eyes a little bloodshot from tears.

“What’re you doing?”

Damian freezes, because he wasn’t expecting this, and his hands grasp uselessly at the half full backpack in his hands. He thought- he thought he would have had more time, time to think, time to say goodbye, maybe, but he doesn’t. This is it. And there are a million thoughts clogging his mind but no words to say them, and he opens his mouth to say something meaningful or grateful or- something, but all that comes out, all that comes out is-

“Can I have some money?”

Grayson blinks. Damian’s grip tightens on the handle of his backpack.

“Yeah, sure, but- Why?”

The older man is staring at him expectantly, and Damian doesn’t understand, but his heart keeps clenching tight in his chest and his eyes want to go wet because doesn’t Grayson  _ understand? _ Damian has no one. Damian has _ nothing _ . Father is dead.  He has to _ go. _

“I’m leaving.”

The words come out choked, but Damian doesn’t even blink. Keeps his head steady and pretends he doesn’t notice.

(Can’t show weakness, not now. This is why caring is not an advantage. It hurts too much.)

Grayson continues to look confused and sad, stepping forward with his his hands out.

“Damian- What? _ Why? _ I don’t unde-”

Dawning realization blossoms on the older man’s face, and Damian steels himself, because here it is, here is the moment where Grayson nods and helps him pack up and tells him goodbye, because there is no place for him here, because Father is gone and that was his sole connection to this family and now that cord has been snapped, and he’s left to float off alone into space.

But, but- No. Grayson’s face is softening and he’s pulling Damian into a hug. And that's  _ wrong _ , because the hug is supposed to come at the end, he expects, right before he steps out the door. But here Grayson is doing it now. Does this mean that the older man is going to force him out of the Manor without even time to grab anything? Is this a test? A punishment? If he survives out on his own with nothing for a certain period of time, will that be it? Will the test be over and will he get to come back?

_ (Please, please, let him come back. _ )

“You don’t have to go anywhere, Dami. You can stay right here for as long as you want. I’m gonna be your guardian now, kay? We’ll sign the paperwork and everything. Make it legal. It’s in Bruce’s will, so it shouldn’t be too much of a hassle-”

Grayson continues babbling on, Damian doesn’t hear it.

Time slows down again to a crawl.

He doesn’t…  _ have _ to go? He can  _ stay? _ Grayson  _ wants _ him, even though they share no blood or relation? 

“Father- Father has made plans for me?”

The words come spilling out, cutting off the man’s rambling. Grayson leans back so that he can look him in the eye, frowning.

“Of course he did, squirt. You’re family.”

Damian  _ stares _ .

“I mean, unless you don’t want to. That’s totally, totally fine if you want something else-”

“NO!”

The word comes out too loud, and his mouth instantly clamps closed, because that was just- pathetic, but at the same time there is liquid relief pouring through all his veins, and he can stay, and his Father cared enough to add him to his will and- and- Grayson wants him. Grayson  _ wants _ him to stay.

He clears his throat, straightens his shoulders, throws up another wall, even though he knows that Grayson will be able to see through it.

“I mean- This will be… adequate. I can- _tolerate_ these conditions just fine.”

Grayson smiles at him, that small twinkle in his eye that never quite leaves shining, like he and Damian are sharing some special secret that no one else can ever know.

(Maybe this is Damian's role, to stand besides this strange special man who cares too fiercely and trusts too much, sharing silent secrets with their eyes alone and not caring as the rest of the world goes by.)

“That’s great, kiddo. I’m glad.”

The gaping hole in Damian’s chest is easing, slowly, even though his heart saddens because of Father, but at the same time, at the same time-

Grayson looks pleased- tired and grieving and sad, but pleased-  and if Damian is quite honest, he would say he was quite pleased, too.

Some might even call him happy.

And, hidden in the nook of Grayson’s shoulder once more, Damian allows himself to smile.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [no heartbeat, no soul](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15357546) by [inallmyunholiness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inallmyunholiness/pseuds/inallmyunholiness)




End file.
